Tea? (Only if You Want To)
by syrensxng
Summary: Crowley pays Bobby a visit at his house to make sure he's on task. (He definitely isn't worried.) Takes place during the Leviathan arc. Based on the dialogue prompt 'It's tea. I thought you might need something to drink'


To most, Bobby's house seemed an old and peaceful one. And in some ways, it was. The house itself was a rickety old thing, built nearly a century ago. Bobby himself had lived in it for decades, refusing to leave it no matter how broken down it became. The floorboards of the house creaked when you stepped on them, the blinds were hard to close… Layers upon layers of dust lined the old bookshelves on the walls, the garage was filled with old and rusty tools (many of which hadn't been used in years). Even the heater had to be given a kick or two to work properly (though Bobby insisted it never got too cold anyway). But, like the old man himself, the house was much more than it seemed. For while it _looked_ like an quaint old thing on the verge of breaking down to many, hunters knew better. Amongst the books, stained and crinkled - many of them unused and forgotten - hid hundreds of years' worth of information, spells and rituals some only _dreamed_ of getting ahold of. The creaky, faded walls were lined with sigils and wards to keep out nearly any creature who dared try to enter. And the basement? Even it held secrets. Weapons of all shape and size, elixirs and charms to ward off spirits and entities, (Bobby suspected only a good half of them worked, but you could never be too careful) and more recently, Leviathan heads. Bobby's house had hosted all manner of monsters, spirits, and creatures; and today, it hosted the King of Hell.

Bobby glanced up from his desk to find a teacup sitting on his desk. He did a double take, peering suspiciously at the small object. He could've sworn that part of his desk had been unoccupied a second ago. He didn't even _have_ any teacups. Bobby leaned towards it, tapping the porcelain with a finger. Maybe he was hallucinating, he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily. It had, after all, been days since he let himself rest, pouring over nearly ever book in his house for even a _mention_ of leviathans. Alas, it was to no avail. Months had passed since the leviathans had been released, and they were _still_ no closer to finding a way to hurt them, much less kill the bastards. But much to his surprise, the teacup rang when he tapped it lightly. Not an illusion, then.

"Are you done staring at the teacup or are you actually going to drink it?" a familiar British voice asked. Bobby turned to see Crowley, who had apparently gotten tired of waiting, looking down at him. "Because honestly," the demon continued, raising an eyebrow condescendingly, "you've done nothing but stare at the damn thing for the past ten minutes."

Bobby rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "Well _excuse_ me for being suspicious about a teacup that magically appeared on my desk," he huffed. "What's in it, anyway?"

"It's tea," Crowley said matter-of-factly as he strolled around the living room. "I thought you might need something to drink. Chamomile specifically, supposed to help you sleep." He came to a bookshelf and pulled out a particularly dusty one, skimming the pages nonchalantly.

Bobby shot up from his chair. "Don't touch that," he huffed, snatching the book away from Crowley's hands. _Lesser Known Monsters and Spirits_ , the title read. Bobby made a mental note to look through it later as he glared at the demon. "Cut the crap, Crowley," he hissed, ignoring how little the space between them was. "What do you really want?"

"Oh, nothing much," Crowley grinned mischievously. He leaned closer and licked his lips, apparently sensing the hunter's discomfort. He really should have been born a Trickster instead, Bobby thought as he eyed the demonic monarch warily. He had just the right sense of perverted mischief and humor. "Just thought I'd drop by and check in on you, see if you've made any progress with the Leviathans." Crowley stepped back suddenly, sauntering around the room as if he owned the place. "The boys miss you, you know," he called over his shoulder teasingly.

Oh, that bastard. Bobby had seen neither Sam nor Dean for months now they were on the run, and Crowley clearly knew how much it meant to him. "Yeah, well give them my best and tell them I've got nada on those slippery bastards, but I'm working on it," Bobby snarled, blocking the demon just as he was about to enter the kitchen. "Now if that's all, it would be a _great_ help if you got the hell out of my house."

"Oh Robert," Crowley purred, smirking. "It gives me tingles when you talk like that." Bobby's eye twitched. Damn bastard seemed to have a flirty comeback for every comment he made.

"I _mean_ it," the hunter hissed back. The demon was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, licking his lips playfully. He sure was laying the flirting on thick today, Bobby observed, taking a step back. "Take that damn cup of tea, too. I need something that'll keep me awake, not put me to bed."

The smirk dropped from Crowley's face, replaced suddenly by an unreadable expression as he pursed his lips and turned away. "Well. You're _clearly_ not in the mood for some clever banter, so perhaps I _will_ take my leave…" If Bobby didn't know any better, he would've said the demon looked almost hurt by his comments. But that was impossible, surely. This was the _King of Hell_ he was talking to here. "And seeing as you're so grumpy perhaps I'll leave a bottle of warm milk, too." he added condescendingly.

Bobby's face twisted into a disgusted grimace, all trace of remorse for his previous comment gone. "Fuck off," he spat. Crowley tensed suddenly, face turned away so the hunter couldn't see his expression.

Bobby froze. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell Crowley off straight to his face. After all, for all his teasing and flirting, he was still the King of Hell. Bobby watched tensely as Crowley turned to face him, and prepared for the worst.

"Maybe I will," the demon replied instead, for once without a snappy comeback. And with a blink of an eye Crowley was gone, leaving Bobby dazed and confused. In the brief moment before he'd disappeared, Crowley had almost flinched at his remark. The hunter sighed, shrugging it off as another one of the demon's antics, as he turned back to his books and notes. Bobby rubbed his eyes wearily, picking up the book Crowley had taken from the bookshelf. There was still work to be done anyhow, meddlesome demon or none.

Bobby didn't think much else of the incident until later that evening, when a single cup of coffee appeared at his desk just as his eyes had begun to close. He'd never admit it, but Bobby was secretly pleased, a small smile tugging at his lips. And so was a certain King of Hell, watching from the shadows with a fond smirk on his face before disappearing into the night.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I have to say, for such a large fandom there doesn't seem to be a lot of Crobby, but I really find this ship endearing. As usual, thanks for reading and I'd loved any suggestions, comments, or questions you have. Thanks again!


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